


Trophy Hunter

by quodpersortem



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Criminals, Alternate Universe - Police, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Police Uniforms, Stranger Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-03
Updated: 2013-06-03
Packaged: 2017-12-13 21:07:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/828905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quodpersortem/pseuds/quodpersortem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's a police officer who has <i>finally</i> managed to catch Castiel Novak, a renowned criminal he's been tracking for a while now. </p><p>It's too bad that Castiel seems to know about Dean's little crush on him--and that he is all too willing to use that against Dean. Or not, because apparently it does mean that Dean is getting laid today.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trophy Hunter

Dean pushes the criminal into the back of his van. He steps in after, making sure that he doesn’t hit his head on the roof. He checks if everything on his belt is still secure and then faces the criminal he’s finally caught.

Castiel Novak, tax accountant gone rogue and manipulator first class, grins up at him.

They’ve met before, a couple of times. Sometimes, Dean thinks Castiel—better known as Cas among the police and criminals both—sets up this shit.

When he reaches over to secure Castiel’s handcuffs to the side of the van, however, Cas doesn’t try to seduce him like the last couple of times (he didn’t exactly manage, but that doesn’t mean Dean hasn’t fantasized about it, _fuck_ ). Instead slides his hands free from the metal and clicks them shut around Dean’s wrists and the bar Dean was meant to chain Cas to.

“What the fuck,” Dean curses, but Castiel just grins sweetly as he pushes Dean to sit down onto the bench. Dean glares as hard as he can, and it’s a damn shame people can’t kill with their eyes, or Cas wouldn’t have made it out of here alive.

“Yeah, fuck,” Castiel walks to the doors of the van, and Dean can imagine what will happen now—Castiel might jump out and leave Dean here all night, he might drive Dean somewhere desolate and kill him, he might drive the van into a ditch and pretend it’s an accident. It doesn’t look too good.

Apparently, Dean doesn’t know the criminal well enough. Castiel just closes the doors from the inside, locks them with the keys he snagged from Dean’s belt, and turns back to him.

“I’ve wanted to for a while now,” he tells Dean, trailing a finger up Dean’s thigh. If he’d been able to move his arms he would have pushed Castiel away, but he doesn’t so he only can suppress the shivers that run through his body.

“Wanted what?” he asks, thinking desperately of Mitt Romney, of his boss at the police department, Bobby, and his boss Zachariah, of how this is a _goddamn criminal_ and he shouldn’t-

 

“A piece of you,” Cas whispers. “To fuck you. I don’t know, I don’t care, whatever you want.” Then he cups Dean’s cock, hard in his police uniform, regardless of all the nasty things he’s tried to think of. “See? You want it too?”

And that’s the thing, isn’t it? Dean does want it. He wants it badly. “Don’t-“ he protests weakly, but Castiel shushes him.

“Don’t talk,” Cas tells him firmly, moving so that he’s sitting in Dean’s lap now, grinding down his hips so Dean can feel he’s hard too. “You’re so desperate for it, I can tell.” He presses their mouths together, easily, kissing Dean as if they have known each other for years. “Such a sub, too. I bet you never get a chick to tie you to the bedpost, though. Does it turn you on, wearing your own handcuffs?”

Dean turns his head to the side, pushing his face against his arm to try to hide his furious blushing. He probably should have known something like this could happen, it is well known that Castiel is cunning enough to beat the police—and other criminals—repeatedly. Yet as far as anyone knows, he has never killed a soul, which makes Dean the one more likely to end up in Hell.

“God, I’m right,” Castiel breathes down Dean’s neck, teeth gently sinking into the skin. Dean gasps and arches up, keeping his eyes firmly closed because this can’t be happening, he’s going to wake up in his bed any time now-

But then Cas is unzipping his jeans and palming Dean’s cock through his underwear. He moans this time, the handcuffs digging almost painfully into his skin when he tries to move his hands and fails. 

“Cas,” he mutters, and then the criminal is looking right at him.

“You-“ Dean can see Castiel frown. “You really want this?”

Dean doesn’t say anything. He just keeps looking at Cas, thinking that he shouldn’t do this, but his body makes the decision for him—it probably made this decision when he first caught Castiel and let himself get pushed off, too distracted by the smell and feel of his body to handcuff him. He bites his lip and then nods, very slowly.

Castiel’s eyes widen, just a little, but then he grins again and lifts himself a few inches off Dean’s thighs. Dean shudders when Castiel tugs at his police uniform, the smooth slacks easily gliding down his hips. His utility belt clatters to the floor and he can hear the can of pepper spray roll away, thunking against a wall somewhere. 

The metal bench is cool against his ass and Castiel’s hands are quick and clever when they pull down Dean’s underwear, too. 

“So gorgeous,” Castiel whispers before kissing Dean again, his fingers sliding over Dean’s dick. There’s no friction, just touch, and Dean all but bucks up into it.

Castiel slides off his legs then, kneeling in front of Dean, and for a second Dean thinks that this is it, Cas is now looking for his gun on the floor, that maybe he’ll get tortured first and then shot—but instead Cas’ fingers gently nudge at his thighs, pushing them further apart before leaning forward. Castiel is licking his lips and opening his mouth, and Dean’s cock is twitching and dribbling precome and-

He still doesn’t expect the heat when Cas’ mouth closes around him. Doesn’t expect it, when Castiel licks at the head of his cock, using only the tip of his tongue to press into the slit, making him shudder. The handcuffs rattle against their frame and he moans, unable to keep quiet. He doesn’t expect it, either, when Castiel pulls off after thirty seconds—at most—and smiles smugly.

“I wanted to taste you,” he explains, as if it’s normal to suck a stranger’s cock into your mouth. As if it’s normal to suck off the police officer who caught you, no longer than ten minutes ago. Dean can hear the sound of a zipper and when Cas stands up, he’s got his hand down his jeans. “And I’m guessing that you wanna taste me, too.”

Dean moans again, focusing on how Castiel pulls his jeans down to mid-thigh and fists his erection. He hasn’t done this before—has only ever been on the receiving end, from both guys and girls and some people in between—but when Cas leans forward he finds himself opening his mouth regardless. 

Castiel’s cock feels much bigger in his mouth and the head is much softer, much slicker than he’d anticipated. Dean gasps around the flesh, opening his mouth further as it seems to fill him up, and when he tries to swallow around it, a flood of spit in his mouth, Castiel moans. Dean tries to pull back a little, create some more room for himself, and then licks around the head of Cas’ dick. It tastes fucking foul, bitter and salty and possibly unwashed, little gushes of precome dribbling onto his tongue, but the sounds Castiel makes do more than make up for it. 

His own dick bobs heavily between his legs, neglected but twitching every now and again. Castiel keeps moving, in little stuttering movements that spill and spill bursts of bitter slick. Dean can smell him, the sweaty skin of his groin, pubes touching his nose whenever Cas moves close. It should be gross but it isn’t. All that is unpleasant is the physical sensation. The idea is a fucking turn-on. The sounds Cas makes too.

After he doesn’t know how long, Castiel finally pulls away. Dean had half expected him to come down his throat, choking Dean on semen, but he doesn’t. When he looks up, licking his lips clean of sticky liquid, Castiel makes a little sound in the back of his throat that has Dean shivering again.

“Come here, please,” he begs Castiel, his own cock so hard it’s painful. He’s pretty sure he’s got blue balls and dear _god_ , he wants Cas to touch him. “Touch me.”

He doesn’t expect the criminal to listen, but he does. Castiel pushes his jeans further down, revealing muscled thighs and slender knees, and then sits in Dean’s lap with his legs spread wide. Dean stares at their crotches, Castiel shuffling closer to his stomach until their dicks are pressing together. First just at the tips, ridiculously slick and hot, and then along their full lengths. Dean moans, shivers, and then moans some more when Castiel pushes up his uniform’s shirt so their dicks are pressing against his bare belly. 

“Been watching you,” Castiel mutters before he kisses Dean. “Wanted to get my hands on you, I saw the way you looked at me.”

“Christ,” Dean groans, slamming his head back against the side of the van. His hips are moving, wild bucking movements that rock Cas faster against him. Then Castiel’s hand closes around both their cocks and within seconds he’s rambling, “Need to, I’m almost—Cas, Castiel, Jesus Christ, faster, faster, I’m going to—oh.”

The handcuffs are rattling against the metal as he tries to grasp something to hold on to, his entire body seizing up to meet Cas’ as his balls tighten, as the heat grows and grows, and then Castiel sweeps his thumb over the leaking crown and Dean’s done for. He comes, can feel the way Cas holds his dick against his stomach so it soaks into his shirt, some of the spunk dripping down to disappear in the hair of his crotch. It feels like ages before he returns to the real world, the haze finally wearing off just as Castiel starts jacking off, quick and expertly.

He’s still in Dean’s lap so his butt shoves against Dean’s thighs, and Dean starts talking to him. He knows that it’s damn fucking stupid, that Bobby is going to call him a fool and an idiot if he ever finds out (which hopefully is never), but Castiel’s face is flushed and he looks so desperate for it. Besides, Dean’s never been great at shutting up during sex.

“Come for me,” he croons, “You lured me in here, I wanna see you too; wanna see you spill over the edge. You can mess up my uniform for me, when I walk into the department everyone’s going to notice the stains but no one’ll know it was you, come on Castiel, I wanted you, you were right, shit, you _were_ , you’re so fucking hot and I’m so fucking hot for you-“

And Castiel makes all these sinful little noises, desperately cut back in his throat as he thrusts his cock into his hand. His other hand is grabbing Dean’s shoulder, creating leverage against the rocking motions, no doubt. He’s staring straight at Dean when he stills, moaning loudly before tipping his body forward, pointing his cock at Dean’s shirt and then coming all over it. 

Dean watches it happen, watches as the nasty white ropes catch on the fabric of his uniform, drops pearling on the pockets and strands breaking and sliding down in bubbles in other places. Castiel relaxes for a moment after he’s done, obviously taking a few seconds to catch his breath before he gets back up and pulls up his jeans. 

He seems to ponder something for a moment, and then reaches in his pocket. Dean, expecting to be left behind in the van, is surprised when Castiel uncuffs him.

“What’d you do that for?” he asks as Castiel, feeling slightly baffled.

“You’re not going to catch me now, are you?” Cas grins at Dean, cocking his head to the side. 

“No-“ Dean stammers a little, pulling up his pants and belt just when Castiel is about to open the door. He thinks about letting Castiel go like that, no strings attached, but—he doesn’t _want_ to.

He curls his fingers around Cas’ wrist, far more delicate than he’d given him credit for earlier, and Castiel looks a little scared at the prospect of being a prisoner but instead Dean kisses him. Then he does let go.

Castiel smiles at him and says, “See you later, then!” before he runs away. 

Dean frowns a little, before looking down at his shirt and realizing that holy shit, it really is fucking ruined. There should be some wet wipes in his dashboard, somewhere, usually only used when he lands himself in the mud again—and they turn out to not work as well on spunk as on earth, but he manages to look at least more or less presentable by the time he gets back to the police office.

He manages to make up a story about why Castiel’d escaped him, almost blushing when Bobby asks a few questions that make it sound like Dean’s a complete idiot (he is, okay, he is and he doesn’t want anyone to ever know what exactly happened).

Then he drives home, desperate for a shower—his abs feel like they have a crust of semen all over them—and wonders if Castiel knows where he lives.


End file.
